


The Bi-Curiosity of Jensen Ackles

by veterization



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterization/pseuds/veterization
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU. When Jared tells Jensen to pretend to be gay for the sake of grabbing the attention of Danneel Harris, Misha Collins pays interest. Much to the dismay of Jared.</p><p>Fair warning: This is a Jared/Jensen story. This is NOT an endgame Misha/Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bi-Curiosity of Jensen Ackles

She's hot, plump-lipped, red-haired down to her waist, and totally out of Jensen's league.  
  
At first glance, Jensen believes she's most possibly the most sumptuous woman in the room, if not the universe, that including the nameless girl who attempted to sell him facial cream at the mall with big eyes framed with ebony lashes and a chest that was threatening to bust out of her dress that almost convinced Jensen to buy the damn product. The girl here, however, albeit also nameless, isn't selling any facial cream. As a matter of fact, she isn't talking to Jensen at all.  
  
From across the room, Jensen can make out soft curves, long legs, and a bright, chirpy laugh, feminine and sweet like apple pie.  
  
Jensen swallows on a dry tongue.  
  
If there's anything a year and a half at college has taught him, it's that he's not as good as picking up women as he thought.  
  
He still doesn't know what happened in between high school and college that suddenly made him so undesirable. He's come up with the theory that even though college girls are pegged as the wild, adventurous ones who drink tequila in the morning and party without panties, they're all going through complexes and insightful processes of finding themselves, while in high school desperation and hormones overpowers any sense of personality let alone logic.  
  
It's a dry theory, not very optimistic, but Jensen likes to believe that theories are fabricated so they can be proven wrong. He's seen himself in the mirror, and even though he went through a brief yet troublesome acne phase in fifth grade and never really grew with the proper proportions adjusting his limbs to the rest of his body until junior high, by now he's developed not all too badly. He's got a nice smile and hair, albeit easily maintained, never sticks in horribly cumbersome directions.  
  
He likes to reason that perhaps, it's his good looks that intimidate girls. If he's reasonably attractive, chances are he's got charisma. If he's got charisma, he's got wit. If he's witty, he's clever. If he's clever, he's astute beyond his years. If he's intelligent, he has the ability to produce money. In one way, it seems like a foolproof advertisement to reel in ladies, but instead, it might deter them, lower their self-esteem, persuade them that they need men more on their own level, like those who suffer from premature balding and always leave an uncultivated patch of uneven grass when they mow the lawn because they're just that type of sloppy.  
  
So, if he's assuming that the glass is full concerning the situation that Jensen hasn't gotten laid since that one night he got intoxicated during the freshman Christmas party and had a quick fumble in a pantry, it's ultimately his perfection that's deterring the feminine half of the population.  
  
Unfortunately, Jensen's ego isn't exactly brimming with enough narcissism to believe that quite yet.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He's made his way over to the girl with fortitude in his steps he doesn't possess, and before he can even consider skirting past her or gracefully backing up or even turning the whole walk into a sensual dance, he's already made his presence known.  
  
She looks at him. She's a good few inches shorter than him, and Jensen smiles, the sort of smile that makes his lips curve up more at the left than at the right. Jared told him once it was sexy, so he goes with that.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"I'm Jensen." He keeps his smile in place as though it's default, like he's more of a wax statue with a smirk than anything else. She looks at him like he's slow, as though he's expecting her to reply with her own name. Jensen doesn't let his smile falter.  
  
"Okay," she says, and Jensen has to admit, even though there's the undeniable hint of condescension scraping at her voice, it's pretty, "...Danneel."  
  
She grits out her name as though she doesn't like saying it, like it's an STD on a poster in a health classroom during high school.  
  
"So listen, I was thinking–"  
  
Danneel plants the pad of her index finger directly on Jensen's lips. He inhales. She has the expression of a grandmother humoring her grandson by listening to imaginative stories about magical unicorns and teleporting to Asia. Jensen doesn't think that's an entirely good sign.  
  
"I'm sure you were," she agrees, "but I have someone I need to talk to."  
  
She slides past him before Jensen can get out another word, the softness of her skin on his mouth gone and replaced with the cold breeze of her hurrying to the other end of the room to refill her red cup even though last Jensen saw, it was already brimming with a pink cocktail.  
  
He exhales again as someone bumps blatantly into his shoulder, and right when he's about to tell a guy to be a little more careful and a little less drunk when he walks, he's met with Jared's beaming face.  
  
"Are you druuuuuunk?"  
  
The dopey smile painting Jared's features implies that rather, he is, and wants Jensen to agree so he doesn't feel quite so lonesome in his romantic affair with apple martinis. Jensen's got a beer curled in his hand and doesn't feel quite as much alcohol-caused numbing in his mind as he would prefer.  
  
"Unfortunately, still sober," Jensen says, and sips sourly at his beer, "where have you been?"  
  
"Looking for you, actually."  
  
"Oh," Jensen says, and Jared knocks his shoulder against Jensen's again. It's a gesture that Jared does too much because he's an undeniably touchy friend, but he's inebriated so it comes out a little rough and Jensen almost lands straight into Mark Pellegrino's unsuspecting lap, who looks far from pleased.  
  
"What've _you_ been doing?"  
  
Jensen shrugs and cocks his cup in the direction of Danneel, now a fair distance away and crowded with a throng of drunkenly dancing college students. The music's a little loud and Jensen's dick could really use an intoxicated girl's attention after months of nothing but his own hand, but he still isn't all too keen on leaving the party and heading for his dorm room yet after a single rejection.  
  
"Do you know her?" Jensen asks.  
  
"Oh, yeah. She's always with Misha."  
  
The name doesn't have any familiarity to Jensen, but Jared's face is suddenly looking a little pleased and coquettish at the mention of the man's name, so Jensen figures he can't be too bald, old, or ugly. And sure enough, when he glances over at Danneel again, a dark-haired man is plastered up against her side in the crowd.  
  
"Are they dating?" Jensen asks.  
  
"According to the last time I saw him with a hand down a girl's skirt, I'd say no." Jared snorts, but it's through a mouthful of martini and comes out more as a stifled _snerk_.  
  
"So he's gay?"  
  
"Fortunately." Jared supplies after he's swallowed.  
  
"Is _she_?"  
  
"I haven't seen her hand down any skirts either, Jen."  
  
Jensen taps his thumb against his cup. Jared follows his gaze to where Danneel's laughing at something Misha's said, and he nudges him with an elbow. By the time Jensen looks over at him, he's sporting a hideously elated grin, misguiding in the way it looks promising but is really just stupid, because drunk Jared is not smart Jared.  
  
"You could pretend you're gay enough to bring Freddie Mercury back from the grave."  
  
Jensen blinks. And blinks again. Jared's grin doesn't waver. It reaffirms his fact that Jared does not make for a superb therapist when under the influence of one too many fruity drinks with umbrellas.  
  
"I'm sure that's the answer to one of my problems," Jensen dismisses, "how does it relate to Danneel?"  
  
Jared snorts again, as if Jensen's severely slow on the uptake, and this time a hint of green juice goes spurting from his lips like a sporadic fountain. Jensen promptly steps out of the target line.  
  
"Dude, chicks dig homos. Why do you think girls keep trying to shove me into storage closets and do things they wouldn't dream of telling their momma during Sunday brunch?"  
  
Up until now, Jensen has been unaware of this fact. He would assume that Jared's fibbing or decided to be uncharacteristically arrogant about his sexual appeal, but when he thinks about it, Jared's notorious for going missing during fifteen-minute intervals at parties and returning looking rumpled and a little exasperated. Jensen's lips curve into a frown.  
  
"But you like men. Women aren't supposed to like men who like men. Is that some sort of forbidden fruit self-sabotage thing that women do to experience anguish?"  
  
Jared shrugs, as if even though he's full of timeless wisdom, the complexity of the female species isn't a topic ready to be delved into on a drunk day. Or, as a matter fact, on a sober day either.  
  
"They want to see if they can convert me. To be fair, girls grabbing your sausages while a broom watches is a good way to see if you really are gay."  
  
Jensen nods, slowly, "You're saying that if I tell Danneel I'm gay she'll find me more appealing because she wants to turn me straight?"  
  
"Girls like challenges. It's what causes drama and Facebook fights. Of course." A little dose of green goes sloshing out of Jared's cups and splashes unceremoniously into the faded carpet. The stain goes unnoticed to Jared as he continues to elaborate on his plan with enthused swings of his arm.  
  
Jensen doesn't like agreeing with a Jared so pumped up on liquid courage. The last time he listened to one of Jared's therapy sessions while he was keeping some hardcore vodka under control, they both ended up naked in the nearby neighborhood dog park attempting to catch nighttime butterflies with Tupperware containers after completing half a dozen failed prank calls from Jensen's cell phone. It wasn't one of those things where he woke up with a tattoo on his forehead or shaved off all of his hair, but he still isn't going to downright call the incident the most intelligent portion of his twenty-something years of life so far either.  
  
"You're making sense," Jensen agrees, nodding, "I'm not sure if you'll make this much sense by morning."  
  
"Mockery will get you nowhere, Ackles," Jared mindlessly pushes Jensen in the direction of Danneel, even though there's a thick crowd with drinks and alcohol clouding their senses in the way, and Jensen promptly proceeds to bump into a poorly dancing Mike Rosenbaum. A few curse words hit the air but Jared is still all grins and thumbs up, unaware of the ruckus he caused as Jensen squeezes his way in between grinding couples and boisterous laughter.  
  
He gets to Danneel before he can think up of a greeting interesting enough to result in conversation, let alone a bad pick-up line he read on the Internet. He opens his mouth, and he closes it. Tom Welling's elbow knocks into the small of his back and almost sends him topping onto Danneel's shoulder.  
  
"Er. Can I get you a drink?"  
  
Danneel turns around, but this time, her male lackey Misha also faces him. He manages another small smile, but the confidence from the last time he attempted to strike up conversation with her is lacking.  
  
"I think I'm capable, thanks." The gratitude in her _thanks_ doesn't exude the aura of much gratitude at all. Jensen wonders if there's something drawn on his face that he's missed all evening of if he's mismatched his buttons.  
  
"No, of course! Just wondering if you wanted some help."  
  
When Danneel's sneer turns from catching a glimpse of an expired milk carton to catching a glimpse of a circumcision, Jensen's starting to believe he won't even get out the words _I'm gay_ before he loses the interest of this girl. If he looks at it fairly, the prettier the girl, the harder to impress, but from the looks of Danneel's even teeth and silky hair, Jensen will be here all night.  
  
A hand, warm and strong and familiar in touch, plants itself on the small of Jensen's back before winding around his waist and resting loosely against his hip. He jumps at the unexpected contact, fully expecting to see Christian Kane or another man who has a habit of getting handsy when tipsy leaning against his side, but instead is met with Jared's lazy smile directed at both Misha and Danneel.  
  
"Baby, you got me that martini yet?"  
  
"Um."  
  
Danneel's expression softens a little as it lands on Jared.  
  
"He's – oh." Her lips curve in the perfect shape of an _o_ and Jensen tries to smile even though he's visibly tense under Jared's grasp and isn't all too comfortable with his spontaneous coming out. Randomly proclaiming his false homosexuality suddenly doesn't seem like such a smart idea as it did five minutes ago.  
  
"Gay?" Jared supplies, "You couldn't guess?"  
  
"No, not at all."  
  
Jensen suddenly morphs out of his costume of pimpled potato into chocolate-covered strawberry. Danneel steals a look at him again. Jensen assumes that claiming a college student is gay is just another way of effectively removing his dick. Danneel isn't staring at him now to judge how good he is in bed or how well his lips perform during osculation, but rather how superb his fashion sense is or how many hairstyles he knows how to work. Jensen swallows, and waits for Jared's scheme to kick in like planned like it tends to do at the climax in movies so he can be hauled off to a storage closet by those manicured nails already.  
  
"Really?"  
  
This time it's not Danneel that speaks up, but rather Misha. Jensen looks at him, actually looks at him, and is met with a striking pair of blue eyes that could rival the midday sky. He's got tousled hair, thick lips, and afternoon stubble, so handsome Jensen can hardly believe he's gay. Then again, he doubts that all homosexuals are only so after they give up on the females of the world.  
  
Jared pets Jensen's hip, "He's... fresh out of the closet. Was finding shoes from the eighties in there for a while."  
  
Misha laughs, and Danneel even joins in. Jensen automatically decides he likes the sound, and his grin grows.  
  
"Wouldn't have pegged you as the type."  
  
"From the things he's done to _me_ –"  
  
Intent on not rousing the beast that is Jared when he's both drunk and chatty and not the best of liars, he worms his way out from underneath his friend's arm and manages another quick smile.  
  
"We're not together."  
  
"Used to be." Jared cuts in.  
  
"Not anymore."  
  
"He's still gay, though."  
  
"...interesting." Misha says, and his eyes rake over Jensen. He's got his good jeans on and despite earlier belief, his shirt's buttons are meticulously in order. He hadn't assumed when he had slipped into his clothing this morning that guys would be the party he'd be impressing with his outfit. Then again, he'd just come out to a stunning redhead and her gay companion, another task he hadn't assumed he would complete a few hours ago.  
  
"You know," Danneel prompts, and she sets her cup down on the table, "Misha's single."  
  
Misha swats her discreetly in the arm. Danneel grins. There's a proposal in her voice, but it's coming indirectly from Misha instead of her. Jensen isn't quite sure what to think, but his own grin doesn't waver.  
  
"Really?" Jared pushes.  
  
"Oh, yes. He's really been missing someone to do yoga with."  
  
Jensen glances at Jared from the corner of his vision in the vain hope that after their years of close-knit teamwork and comradeship that Jared will get the hint and wordlessly inform Jensen of the next step in their so far shaky scheme, but the taller boy looks like he's much more engrossed in the idea of joining Misha in a downward dog pose and then blowing him on a yoga mat than aiding Jensen in his quest to bang Danneel Harris.  
  
Jensen does what he does best, and keeps grinning. Danneel takes it as encouragement and grabs Jared's wrist in her tiny fingers.  
  
"C'mon, I say we let these two talk."  
  
If Jensen had suspicions about her intentions, they became clear the second he realizes that Jared is being hauled off by an either surprisingly strong Danneel or a very loose-limbed and sloshed Jared. And with the pair of them flouncing away from the drinks table, his heterosexuality flounced away from his grasp as well.  
  
"So," Misha says, and Jensen had almost forgotten about his presence, "freshly gay? How's the other side of the fence?"  
  
"...different." It's a conveniently vague word. Misha doesn't seem deterred by the ambiguity.  
  
"I bet. Hey, at least it's not high school. That place is for beating up anybody who's not like anybody else."  
  
Jensen smiles and nods stiffly, as though he's talking to his grandmother about her choices for the dinner china. He assumes that Misha's either naturally oblivious or too drunk to sense his discomfort when he still doesn't question it.  
  
"If you wanted," Misha murmurs, and takes a step closer. Jensen breathes in a whiff of aftershave and what smells like the aftermath of a few tequila shots. "I could help you get used to the whole _dick that isn't my own_ thing. Talk over coffee, maybe catch a movie."  
  
Jensen doesn't know exactly what to say. He wants to blurt out that he's straight, straighter than a flagpole, that he's more interested in the woman that was hanging on his arm prior a few seconds ago, that coffee and a movie would make him very, _very_ uncomfortable. He's got a whole speech explaining his heterosexuality tingling on the edge of his tongue, but he feels Jared and Danneel's eyes boring into the back of his head from behind him and he manages another easy grin.  
  
"That sounds nice."  
  
\---  
  
"So tell me again when during this plan I land Danneel and tell her the only dick I want to be getting used to is already in my pants."  
  
Jared tuts, as if Jensen's lack of faith in his plan is far from understandable. He knocks Jensen's knees apart and sits between them, easing a tie around his neck.  
  
"You're nervous."  
  
"I'm going out with a guy. I'm straight." When Jared still fails to conjure up a response, Jensen adds on as a desperate afterthought, "Please tell me you see the clash of interests here."  
  
"Do you expect you and Misha to have lots of buttsex in the middle of a gay pride parade here? You'll have coffee. He'll touch your knee. You'll kiss his cheek, go home. Misha tells Danneel how sweet you are, how well it went, and once again, the plan plays itself out perfectly."  
  
"It worries me how much trust you have in this working."  
  
"You're very pessimistic," Jared observes dryly and works a knot into the tie, smoothing down Jensen's collar, "now that you're gay, you've got to have a lot more spunk and a lot less frown."  
  
"To be gay I have to be happy?"  
  
"They're sort of synonyms." Jared says, with an aura of education dangling on his words as though he's spent hours pouring over the dictionary to be able to present Jensen with this information.  
  
Jensen brushes Jared's hands dismissively off of his neck once he finishes knotting his tie, walking over to the mirror to fix any crooked buttons.  
  
"What do I do if he kisses me?" Jensen mumbles over his shoulder, and his reflection seems to overhear. There's a good dosage of mockery radiating out of the mirror, and Jensen wants to wipe away his own image for the time being.  
  
"You kiss back."  
  
"I thought I wasn't going to have any gay buttsex here."  
  
"Kissing doesn't always lead to whoring around, dude," Jared says, and looks at Jensen as though he wants to add a small little _slut_ to the end of his sentence, but refrains because he's still too amused by the situation to be indignant about Jensen's assumptions about kissing.  
  
"Well, I mean, is it different from kissing a girl?" Jensen inquires.  
  
There's a long pause of what is presumably Jared creating a mental Venn diagram, and then proceeds to shrug noncommittally and step forward to fix Jensen's tie. He smooths down a few of the stray wrinkles on his stomach.  
  
"Considering the last time you kissed a girl, you won't have anything to remember to compare it to."  
  
"That's real nice, Jay."  
  
"You're gay now, Jensen. I don't have to talk about your heterosexual experiences fondly anymore." Jared says, and his grin is shit-eating.  
  
Jensen swats Jared's hands away from his tie as he loosens it, but the guy has more arms on an arm instead of a hand, and Jared's broad palm wins over as he keeps making adjustments to the way Jensen's clothing hangs on him.  
  
"Maybe _you_ should go on the date with Misha and I'll just go back into the closet earlier than expected." Jensen supplies, a little helplessly, as he spies his reflection in the mirror again. His shirt is snug and his pants hug his hips. It's a lot tight and a lot awkward and Jensen's pretty sure he can see his nipples through the flimsy fabric, which is not exactly a part of his body he's keen on putting on display in front of Misha or anyone else right now.  
  
"I totally would."  
  
"You like Misha?" Jensen asks.  
  
"Misha's hot. Misha's always been hot. I've just never talked to him that much before." Jared shrugs again.  
  
"I'll... mention you at dinner? Maybe you two can hook up once I'm with Danneel?"  
  
Jared stares at him, long and hard, and after the allotted time of staring at someone that's allowed passes, Jensen starts to feel like perhaps he's missing something or forgot to hear a part of Jared's sentence. Internal or verbal.  
  
"Just – don't do anything too slutty at the movies." Jared advises, and curls his lips into a thin, white line.  
  
"Like give my first blow-job?" Jensen supplies.  
  
"Sounds about right, actually."  
  
"I'll let him save that for you. Don't worry 'bout it."  
  
Jared stares at him again. Jensen blames the height difference, but he's feeling a little small and intimidated at the way Jared's staring him down, like he holds all the answers to the questions he doesn't want to hear responses to. Jared blinks at him. Jensen thinks there's a meaning behind it, or rather, what he's hoping for, that Jared just needed to blink.  
  
"Look, just. Follow the plan." Jared orders, even though it's conveniently vague and Jensen isn't entirely sure that there are specific bullet points to follow in the scheme, but before he can question it, he's being pushed out of his dorm room by an impatient Jared.  
  
Jensen is not excited about being gay.  
  
\---  
  
The very first thing Jensen sees of Misha Collins is his underwear.  
  
Jensen wasn't worrying too much about his appearance until he got to Misha's dorm, where the whiteboard hung up outside of it informed him that not only did Misha have a roommate, but said roommate happened to be Danneel. It turned into a frenzy of smoothing down all of the wrinkles Jared had forgotten and hoping his pants weren't slung too low on his hips, before ultimately, he knocked on the door. A stifled _come in!_ wafted through the wall, and Jensen took the invitation.  
  
Now, Jensen's wavering in the doorway of a tiny, cramped dorm room that looks like a rainbow parade exploded inside of it.  
  
There's a collage of artsy frames hung up on the wall with Danneel and Misha with their arms looped around each other and grins plastered on their lips, posters of half-naked men like any dorm room has at least one of (except in this one, Jensen can't tell which inhabitant they belong to), and what smells suspiciously like an array of scented candles that give off the odor of fresh peaches in waves.  
  
Lastly, there's also a man on the floor bent over a yoga mat in such a manner that his pants are slipping off of his hips and revealing a thin sliver of bright red briefs.  
  
Jensen feels, to put it mildly, out of place.  
  
"Hey." Misha says, suddenly out of his pretzel twist of a yoga pose and sending a wide smile in Jensen's direction. "You look awesome! Let me just get changed."  
  
Misha traipses off in the direction of the bedroom. In the corner of his peripherals, Jensen spies Danneel watching innocently in the arm chair. He turns around, offering her a wave.  
  
"Hi," Danneel says, and with one look at the revealing shirt she's wearing, Jensen can't help but believe he'll never stand as a homosexual permanently, "Are you nervous?"  
  
"Just... a little." Jensen doesn't know what to say about his homosexual date. He doesn't know what he's _supposed_ to say about his homosexual date. He's really still trying to wrap his mind around the _homosexual_ part.  
  
Oh, the things he does for beautiful women.  
  
"Is he the first guy you're going out with, besides Jared? Since you're all fresh out of the closet?"  
  
Jensen nods dumbly. Danneel smiles.  
  
"He's a gentle guy. Just relax, he'll take care of you."  
  
Jensen wants to ask what exactly Misha will be taking care of, but before he can start babbling about how he's a germaphobe or not into physical contact or much too straight for this whole ordeal, Misha's already coming back out of the door in a button-down and jeans, yoga pants stowed away.  
  
"So now that we both look great," Misha prompts, "ready to leave?"  
  
Really, he isn't. He'd much rather stay here with Danneel and keep talking about something that doesn't pertain to the subject of how much he's glad he's not being hugged into a closet anymore. Still, Misha doesn't seem to think that's an option, and before he can protest, he's waving a hasty goodbye to Danneel and his hand is twined tightly with Misha's.  
  
\---  
  
As it turns out, Misha's actually an interesting person. If he tried, Jensen could probably write an entire book dedicated to Misha and his encounters with life. Some of them are bizarre enough to almost seem feigned, but Misha tells every one of his stories with such vigor that Jensen can't help but believe him.  
  
They eat through dinner where Jensen promptly learns that Misha is one of those organic tea sort of individuals, the type he might find in a health food store trying to offer him basil to expand the duration of his life. He's strange, but he's interesting.  
  
Jared was right. The whole thing almost feels like he's having dinner with a friend, except for the part where Misha's fingers eventually crawl up onto his knee and stay there throughout dessert. Still, it's not too bad. Jensen hasn't made any offensive homosexual quips yet that he tends to do around Jared all the time as a friendly tease, and he has yet to grow a little too wide-eyed at any suggestive contact from Misha and blow the entire game.  
  
They talk about Misha's dreams to be an architect, a carpenter, an actor, a baker, a candlestick maker, and just about everything else a student could or could not major in at college, and occasionally Misha tries to worm a few words out of Jensen, like how his coming out was, or how he discovered he was gay. Jensen always hurries back to topics like candlestick making.  
  
Before he knows it, the bill is paid and his fingers are threaded with Misha's again sandwiched in between the stocked shelves of a video rental store. Misha's in the middle of advertising off _Moulin Rouge_ and mindless comedies when Jensen's phone goes off and Jared's name appears on the screen.  
  
Jensen edges away from Misha as politely as possible after excusing himself and rounding a few shelves, answering the shrill ringing.  
  
"Jared?"  
  
"Jensen," there's a complete lack of amusement in Jared's tone that Jensen isn't very used to hearing, "it's past nine. Where are you. Come home."  
  
There are no questions in Jared's monotone commands. Jensen's reminded of his youth, where he used to sneak out with Jared or a girl he'd met in his language class at school after hours and his mother would call him a minute past curfew to give him a good scolding and command him to come home instantly.  
  
"We're just getting a movie, Jared."  
  
"A movie? A _movie_? Are you kidding me, Jensen?" Jared makes it sound like Jensen and Misha are diabolically planning the end of all rainbows in a cave in India, and Jensen isn't quite sure what to say in response.  
  
"...no."  
  
"I can't believe this."  
  
"It's... a comedy?" Jensen offers.  
  
"Oh god," Jared says, "that's even _worse_."  
  
"You don't want me educating myself in humorous film?"  
  
"Jensen," Jared says, and it's an admonishment, like Jensen sneaked into the cookie jar before dinner, "A video is something you watch after dinner at home so you can make out and have sex through the whole thing so you're asleep in each other's arms by the credits."  
  
Jensen's gaze discreetly wafts over to Misha, who, sure enough, is browsing the movies that Jensen fell asleep in at the movie theater. Images of Misha's fist in his pants and impromptu buttsex flit through Jensen's mind, and he hushes into the phone, "What do I do?"  
  
" _Come the hell home._ "  
  
"I can't just _leave._ "  
  
"What?! So now you're all bi-curious all of a sudden?"  
  
"Danneel's gonna be waiting at his place!" Jensen reasons, and ducks under the horror movies to continue on his urgent whispering into the receiver.  
  
"Oh, come on!" Jared cries.  
  
"If she's not there, I'll say I'm not feeling well." Jensen reasons, and when he spies Misha's tuft of dark brown hair wandering over the shelves over to where Jensen's kneeling by a copy of _My Bloody Valentine_ , he snaps his phone shut before Jared can ramble out more homosexual words of wisdom, or rather, demands.  
  
"You seen this one?" Misha jiggles a copy of a DVD so boring, the cover is practically blank. Jensen pins his bottom lip between his teeth and manages a short shake of his head.  
  
\---  
  
What Jensen really loathes to admit more than once every night is when Jared is repeatedly right.  
  
The lights are dimmed to accommodate the television glare and the space between Misha and Jensen on the couch is slowly dwindling from two whole cushions, to one, to half of one.  
  
Jensen's been keeping his eyes trained intently on the television all night long, almost as if he's watching a thoroughly engaging porn video instead of something that vaguely resembles a historic documentary on the science channel. If his peripherals aren't lying, Misha is quite the contrary, and hasn't stolen a single glance at the TV all night.  
  
He would give the guy props for trying, except that his heart rate is pounding at an alarmingly swift pace the closer Misha and his genitals get to his body. He isn't even quite sure how to approach the situation, like a seventh grader trying to waltz at his first dance or a teenager exchanging his first clumsy date with his girlfriend.  
  
Misha's hand on his neck happens before he can see it inching toward the back of the couch. Misha's got a large thumb, brushing over the bristly strands of hair gathering at the nape of his neck in soothing circles. It would almost be nice, if the palpitations of Jensen's heart aren't beating harder than a trailer park husband.  
  
"Movie's great, right?" Jensen tries to strike up, but to his horror, Misha only snickers lowly in response and moves closer.  
  
"Haven't been watching."  
  
And then there's lips on his neck, kissing and suckling, and there's no trace of lip gloss or any other make-up residue anywhere as a souvenir. Just deep, dark, demanding hickeys delivered by no other than Misha Collins, who just so happens to be a man.  
  
Misha's hand worms it way onto Jensen's thigh, and when Jensen still doesn't protest or push Misha back in an obvious rejection, Misha replaces his palm with himself and promptly straddles Jensen's lap.  
  
It's strange and oddly heavy to have a man sitting on his legs instead of a petite waist and tiny legs and a plump chest in his face. Misha's lips are still on his neck, leaving marks that Jensen's going to need a turtleneck to cover up properly, and the slight scrape of stubble against his collarbone reminds Jensen exactly who this is, what this is, and that by no means, is this Danneel.  
  
"Misha–"  
  
"Shhh."  
  
"But–" Jensen squirms a little, and Misha wriggles his hips. There's something, long and hard and insistent, pressing up straight into his thigh, and Jensen almost scrambles off of the couch. He's had his few embarrassing boner incidents in his lifetime, like once when Jared tackled him in his backyard and his dick took a sudden interest, but by this point, he doubts he can call this incidental.  
  
"Hush." Misha says when Jensen opens his mouth to speak. He's got teeth he likes to use, biting at the sensitive spot right under Jensen's ear, making him jump.  
  
"Danneel–"  
  
"Don't worry, I told her to stay out tonight." Misha reassures, voice muffled in Jensen's damp neck.  
  
Jensen whimpers. Misha's not a bad looking guy, and to be fair, he knows exactly what to do and how to do it with his lips and body alike, but all he really wants right now to call Jared. Whether it to be to beg for him to pick him up instantly or offer him advice.  
  
Then again, he's not sure what advice he's looking for. What to do when an attractive gay men licks your neck, or what to do to get a gay man off of your neck?  
  
When a dose of logic kicks in, he's reminded that calling Jared really isn't a smart idea at all. Jared's been fully-fledged gay since he came traipsing out of the closet at prom a few years ago, and Jensen chasing after men and stealing the ones Jared admires right out from under his nose when he's denied any existence of his homosexuality is against any existing bro code.  
  
"Misha, c-can we, er." Jensen pushes, ineffectually, but Misha's head still comes up for air from Jensen's neck. His lips are red and swollen from their work, and Jensen doesn't even want to check how many hickeys he's acquired by now. He's pretty sure that by this point he could play connect the dots with them.  
  
"You're nervous, aren't you?  
  
Jensen thinks of all of the things he is. Gay doesn't fall into that category. Nervous certainly does.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Don't be. I'm here with you." Misha murmurs, a soft, low grumble facsimile of his usual voice. And then, without any warning, Misha's palm goes to rub through Jensen's jeans.  
  
Jensen inhales. His palm's larger than a girl's so it covers much more area on his groin, and Jensen feels a little shamefaced to admit that yes, it's nice.  
  
When he gets home, he's going to be murdered. Slowly. Jared bought a whole set of Wolfgang Puck kitchen knives last weekend after swearing to start putting them to good use and make lots and lots of salad, but by now Jensen's starting to think they'll have other uses that won't include chopping up onions and tomatoes.  
  
But when Misha's fingers deftly undo the button of his pants and slip in to grab his hardening erection and Jensen's throat decides to let loose a guttural moan without asking for permission, he figures he'll worry about that later.  
  
\---  
  
After speeding down the highway at a speed that would've resulted in a intense car chase had the cops witnessed it, Jensen's inching into the dorm parking lot with his car at an ominously slow pace.  
  
Knowing Jared, the guy's probably awake. He's probably diving into a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and watching Logo as the minutes tick by. Jensen doesn't have to be officially gay to know that heterosexuals and homosexuals alike have the same rule: coming home after midnight means someone got laid.  
  
His legs are tingling as he walks up the stairs to Jared and his room like they might after a hot bath, except that this time the subsiding tremors are the aftermaths of the dull satisfaction that comes with getting off.  
  
Now that his mind isn't fogging over quite as much as it was in the dim light and amongst the cushions of Misha's couch with his hand pumping his dick, Jensen vaguely recalls it being short and a little messy. He blames his poor stamina on the fact that it's _really_ been a while since the last time he had proper sex with someone else's nether regions, but other than that, it had been good.  
  
When he thinks about it, that really isn't a very convincing argument to give to Jared when he explains what happened. He would almost prefer it if he could deny any pleasure he had out of tonight.  
  
"A hand is a hand," Jensen's murmuring to himself, rehearsing potential excuses as he pops his collar to ridiculous heights just to give him a semblance of dignity and conceal the noticeable spots on his neck, "I even told him about the impressive size of your stamp collection at dinner."  
  
His excuses are lackluster at best. Jensen lets out an exhale he hasn't realized he's been holding in and slips into his dorm room.  
  
"Jared?"  
  
Jared's sitting atop the kitchen counter with an instant cup of ramen furled into his hands. Jensen detests those things, even if it's symbolism college food, and Jared does too. They used to buy them just to eat out the pieces of corn together and make mustaches with the curled noodles.  
  
"Someone's looking a little gay." Jared says.  
  
"You're still up."  
  
"I was about to say the same thing about your dick." Jared pours the remainders of his cup into the sink nearby, noodles swimming down the drain. Jensen leans against the fridge. A magnet digs insistently into the flesh of his shoulder.  
  
"I know you like him," Jensen says slowly, as though he's picking his words like the whole conversation is an intense game of Scrabble and he only has so many letters, "I wouldn't have done it if I knew Danneel wasn't going to come home."  
  
"She never did?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And you had sex with Misha anyway?"  
  
Jared's naturally got warm eyes. Never in the years that Jensen has known him has he ever been able to pinpoint them to a certain color or shade, just warmth. Specks of everything in the color wheel seemed to gather into a smorgasbord of greens and chocolates in Jared's iris. But right now, eclipsed in the shadows of the nighttime and with the weight of the situation, they seem much too distant for Jensen's liking.  
  
"No item A went into any slot B, all right?" Jensen clarifies, and rakes his fingers through his hair, "it was more... dry humping than anything else."  
  
"So something in the sexual form of thrusting."  
  
"Jared, I'm not gonna be gay forever," Jensen reasons and fiddles with the magnet his shoulder dug into on the fridge. It's small and round and his thumb slides it around easily so he has something else to focus on other than Jared's face and his lack of a smile, a rarity on the guy's features. "This was _your_ plan."  
  
"I know, it's just–" Jared bites his lip. If there's anyone who makes their thinking hideously obvious, it's Jared. It's incredibly effortless to see the battle practically working itself out, or on some occasions, causing more causalities, inside Jared's pupils. "Jen, I think you're a smart guy. But sometimes you're really, _really_ stupid."  
  
Jensen's brow knits together and he's about to retaliate with something equally hurtful when Jared hops off of the counter, steps out of the shadows, and a gleam of light catches the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes.  
  
It's a little sad and a lot Lifetime and Jensen isn't sure what to say when Jared fixes him with one hard stare that he's sure is secretly harboring a reprimand along with a few other choice words and hidden meanings, and then he promptly stalks past him into his bedroom.  
  
If the door had slammed a few times or Jared had knocked deliberately into his shoulder, it would have been unnecessarily dramatic, the sort of thing Jensen could start a histrionic Facebook status about. Thanks to Jensen, the door only slams once.

  
\---  
By morning, Jensen isn't quite sure how to process the night's priors events, considering that there had been a startling number of firsts that had all happened in a few hours duration that Jensen is now able to check off of his list.  
  
He gets up past noon, something that he normally tries to avoid, even on weekends, and stumbles for the kitchen sink to get some coffee brewing. He fell asleep in his pants the night before. If they were too snug last night, he has prominent lines impressed into his hips by now. He fiddles with the zipper as he pours water into the coffee pot, staring blearily into the sink's depths. There's a few dry ramen noodles, limp and pliant like legs after a ten-mile sprint, that hadn't slid down the sink's walls entirely last night when Jared had emptied out his cup. They look horribly neglected. Jensen rinses them away.  
  
Just as Jensen's about to start scouring the dorm room for Jared as he stuffs a filter into the coffee machine, the sound of a mild, attention-grabbing cough wafts through the air.  
  
It's odd at best. Jared's noisy. He doesn't mind if the dorm walls are too thin for a boom box or that their neighbors get peeved when Jared starts blaring music at nine in the morning, just because he's that kind of person. Silence isn't one of Jared's favorite words, let alone even in his terminology. Whether it be the white noise of a meteorologist on the television, the sound of the nineties channel playing from Jared's radio, or even his own voice matching the strumming of his guitar, Jared likes noise.  
  
The fact that the room is eerily quiet with the exception of Jared's spoon clinking occasionally against his cereal bowl is questionable.  
  
"Morning, Jay." Jensen ventures.  
  
Jared points his spoon airily in the direction of the coffee table, as though Satan dropped off a package and some fliers for Jensen before he was awake. Jensen's gaze follows Jared's thumb and lands upon the phone stand, blinking red at him from the messages button.  
  
"You've got a message."  
  
Jensen sets down the coffee pot and presses the play button on the phone stand. Misha's tinny voice meets his ears, and he internally hits his forehead against a wall. According to Jared, dating men is much more fulfilling than dating woman. He spews the material reasons all the time – better sex, less fuss about emotional discussions, less wailing at puppy adoption commercials, no random cranky mood swings once every month. From the fact that Misha called less than twelve hours after their date doesn't scream manly at Jensen. He's reminded of a few of his obsessive girlfriends from junior high and wrinkles up his nose.  
  
" _Hey, Jensen. There's normally always a big hullabaloo about who calls who the day after a date and I just thought I would clear that up straight away and go ahead and tell you that I had a really great time. You've got talented hands._ "  
  
It's the infallible combination of a compliment, suggestion, and a convenient lack of the pushy tendency that tends to come with the messages typical women leave. In all candor, Misha's a nice guy with a nice head of hair and a nice set of hands. Too bad Jensen really doesn't swing that way.  
  
"Talented hands?"  
  
Jared's breath is suddenly gusting out on his neck, and Jensen berates himself for forgetting his presence. He turns around and Jensen's hand plasters itself onto his neck, rubbing awkwardly as though he's just looking for a way to keep his hands busy.  
  
"Jared, you can put every hand you own on Misha for all I care, even the ones I don't know about. You _know_ I'm not in this for the extra dick."  
  
Despite the fact that Jensen uses his most mollifying sigh and best smile, the one he knows makes Jared's expression break out in grins even when they were in the middle of the severely nostalgic funeral Jared's family held for his grandmother or the final exam they took at the end of freshman year where anyone whispering let alone laughing was warned would be rid of their testing rights, Jared looks as if Jensen just said the worst possible reply there could have been to Jared's distress.  
  
"You don't get it, do you?"  
  
"Uh, no."  
  
" _Stuuuuuupid._ " Jared says, and there's not a single hint of a smile or a secretive teasing at his jab. Jensen faintly frowns.  
  
"I'm stupid?"  
  
"Well observed." Jared's jaw twitches. Jensen always thought his flinching was a bad acting technique after watching Jared's role as Hamlet during the school play rehearsal when Chad Michael Murray called in sick as the lead and the understudy had to fill in instead of being in charge of props for the day, who, at the time, just happened to be Jared. Jared's a terrific actor for someone with a lack of proper training, just years of lying to his mother about who ate the last slice of cherry pie as practice, but the way Hamlet repetitively twitched when he told Ophelia to get thee to a nunnery almost ruined the scene when Jensen couldn't focus on anything else as he watched from the audience. However, now as he watches Jared's chin twitch as though his flesh has hiccups, he's starting to think Jared's genuinely cantankerous.  
  
"Do you mind continuing on that insult?"  
  
Jared, however, seems far from pleased with Jensen's response, and promptly heads for his bedroom, arms twisted crossly and lips practically hermetically sealed of all words as he walks away. Jensen thinks it's Jared's fondness of theater that has him so set on ending every argument with a dramatic walk off, but as far as Jensen's concerned, they don't have locks installed on the bedrooms for reasons such as now (and for the classic college experience of the humiliating masturbation walk in), and Jensen marches on Jared's heel.  
  
By the time Jensen follows him and slips into his room, Jared's sitting on his bed as though he's been here for hours, perfectly content if the cheap air mattress swallows him whole. Jensen sits by him.  
  
They're not in Jared's room very often. Jared's convinced that it's marginally bigger than his own even though the poor measuring job Jared completed with his ruler from eighth grade was inconclusive, so after they moved in and Jared composed his theory, despite Jensen's lack of belief in it, they ended up having their Star Wars marathons inside Jensen's room and crashing on his sheets instead of on top of Jared's.  
  
To be fair, Jensen's not sure why they don't use Jared's room, ludicrous measurements abandoned. The decoration has more attention dedicated to it, the frames are subtly straighter, and the furniture doesn't cramp up the space as much as it seems to do in Jensen's room. There's nothing but pictures from Jared's childhood and photos of him and Jensen that managed to be caught on camera up on the wall, and it has the aura of family that Jensen's room is noticeably missing.  
  
"You wanna talk about what the hell is going on?"  
  
Jared glances at him, "You voluntarily want to talk about me thinking you're stupid?"  
  
"No. But is there a reason, other than you being a dickmunch?"  
  
"You're the dickmunch, dickmunch," Jared says, and there, a smile. It's nice to look at, the type of smile that might rival the sun and the global warming adjoining it when he really lets it work his lips, "You're just really stupid."  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
When Jensen continues to fail to show any proper knowledge of the subject Jared's trying to telepathically inform him of, he starts talking.  
  
"This isn't about _Misha_ , Jensen. You didn't think it was weird when I told you _turning gay is a trick to get with women_?"  
  
Jensen feels like this entire scheme seems more like a scheme within a scheme than anything else, which is more than just a misguiding misunderstanding, but rather something heinous that he would've expected Batman to come up with, not Jared. The whole ordeal resembles the tragic portion of a woman's romance film or something that blows over in junior high when drama means giving hugs to girls who aren't your girlfriend.  
  
"Jared," he says slowly, "I'm not that stupid."  
  
Jared stays speechless. There's a picture of Jensen and Jared at prom together in their rented Armani tuxes, Jared's bow-tie mildly crooked and Jensen's hair combed in such a manner that at the time, he had been convinced made his face look more appealing. His sister had commented on it by saying that it looked like a wedding picture for the modern world where two grooms would be acceptable in the middle of Texas.  
  
"Maybe you're not. But you're not gay either."  
  
Jared's staring at his sheets like he'd be content never looking at anything else other than the mildly obnoxious pattern. They found the sheets together at Target a week before moving into the dorms, more out of amusement than actual preference.  
  
"If I _were_ gay, it'd be you, Jay." Jensen admits, and manages a smile.  
  
Were it any other time, Jensen would be mentally mocking the fact that Disney music wasn't wafting in through loudspeakers to grace the moment with its needed added drama effect, but to be fair, it sounds like Jared just indirectly declared a harboring of homosexual affection for his best friend. That's the kind of shit they write songs about on the radio.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"But listen. I invited Danneel and Misha for dinner so you can talk to–"  
  
There's no slow motion effect to help ease the weight of the situation, or a soft sepia tone, or flashing lights. There's Jared's hand poising Jensen's chin to align against his own with his thumb and his mouth descending on Jensen's lips at an alarmingly swift rate, as if for once, Jared knows exactly what he wants at the current moment in time.  
  
When Jared's lips hit his own, it's soft. Misha's kiss had been hard and demanding, too much spit and a busy row of teeth gnawing away at his lower lip the whole time, his lips mildly chapped over Jensen's. Jared's lips aren't rough and his tongue isn't probing away at Jensen's unresponsive mouth. The stubble on his cheek isn't nearly as thorny as Misha's was, rather soft, as if he had just shaved an hour ago after awakening. The whole kiss reminds Jensen of two teenagers exchanging their first kiss, no tongues, no teeth, no wandering hands until at least thirty seconds and just the barest amount of pressure, like a ghost's brush.  
  
Jensen tastes the residue of morning cereal and toothpaste on Jared's lips and vaguely feels his thumb brushing unnoticeable circles underneath his chin, calm, halcyon, like a masseuse relaxing a tense muscle.  
  
He's gone a second later, no longer crowding in Jensen's space and back at a more agreeable distance away from Jensen's mouth. Jensen realizes he didn't kiss back, barely even pressed into it, and he almost feels sheepish at the sight of Jared's face, but when he reminds himself that he's not actually a flaming homo like the rainbow flag resting on Jared's nightstand might suggest, his guilt eases.  
  
"I'm going to make dinner," Jared declares and stands up, "Sausages seem appropriate tonight."  
  
Jensen sighs.  
  
He can never escape the homosexual symbolism that this dorm room drowns in entirely.  
  
\---  
  
Dinner is, at best, awkward.  
  
Danneel kissed his cheek when she and Misha arrived, and before he even had time to wipe off her leftover lipstick Misha had already pulled him close to his chest and kissed him tongue first for a good two minutes.  
  
Jensen's unreasonably euphoric that Jared was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen while that brief make out session occurred.  
  
By now, they're all settled in at their designated spots, Misha practically plastered up to Jensen's side as he tries to eat his sausages in peace, even though Misha seems to believe that it was Jensen who suggested the dinner for the evening that also just happens to double as innuendo as he keeps feeling his palm brush up against his inner thigh. Danneel is pleasant about the whole thing, as if she's used to being present while Misha sidles up next to his boyfriends and molests them underneath tablecloths.  
  
Jared, meanwhile, doesn't seem impressed by Danneel or Misha. Or Jensen, for that fact, as he cuts into his sausages in utter silence.  
  
Jensen feels almost as if for the first time since he started college, everyone he's sitting with is hiding half a hard-on just because of the way Jensen moves his lips when he talks.  
  
He's not so sure about Danneel, mostly because he doesn't know exactly what she's concealing in her pants, or if she has any interest in him other than planning his and Misha's future wedding.  
  
She looks like a Greek Goddess as always, low-cut dress and hair draped over her shoulder in a way that had to have been prepared in the mirror with half a bottle of hair spray earlier. Eyes alight with conversation, lips smeared with grease from dinner, giggling every time Misha makes a blatant display of the way his fingers are threaded with Jensen's by setting their fused fist on the table in between their plates.  
  
It's almost like a blow to the perfectly polite evening when Jared is inevitably brought up in conversation.  
  
"So Jared," Danneel chirps, licking off her fork as she finishes her meal, "You been seeing anyone since you were with Jensen?"  
  
"Nope. Jensen's pretty hard to get over."  
  
There's a collective chortle, quiet and muffled with everyone's wine glasses as Misha hides his grimace and Danneel mimics him with her glass. It's similar to the awkward moment that returns ineluctably at every family reunion brunch when Jensen's grandmother feels the need to make a slightly inappropriate joke about how she and her husband broke the law with prostitution back in the sixties. Chuckle, chuckle. Jensen's back to feebly wishing on a potentially passing by star that it would just be him and Jared making lewd sausage jokes without the company of the campus fairy princess duo team. Jensen glances at Jared as the taller boy stuffs a sausage into his mouth, tongue before teeth. His lips are shiny. Jensen remembers when they were puffy and pink only a few hours ago after the incident from Jared's bedroom.  
  
"That's... nice. I've got some friends I know I could set you up with if you wanted, Jared." Danneel offers.  
  
"I think I'm set with my sausages, thanks."  
  
Another awkward chuckle. The hand planted firmly on Jensen's leg slides up his calf and Jensen suppresses a yelp at the sudden sensation.  
  
"Babe," Danneel pushes, and the table goes still as the chortles subside and turn into another awkward memory to log into Jensen's brain, "You're a little out of Jensen's league."  
  
It's a lot cruel and very little thoughtful and not all together true, and Jensen catches the slight u-turn of Jared's lips before anyone else does. It's like watching a kitten being dropped from the roof of a skyscraper.  
  
"Mmhmm," Jared nods, and it's eerily calm. Jensen knows Jared to be laughing, jumping, even frolicking on some occasions. It's a shame they never lived near any daisy-littered meadows, or Jensen would've had a lot of Kodak moments in his life. "Are you saying that because he's actually entirely straight?"  
  
There's not a collective gasp, which Jensen is glad for, since turning this dinner into a courtroom drama is the only thing that could potentially make it take a deeper plummet for the worse. This time, there are no snickers, and Jensen freezes.  
  
"Jared."  
  
"Jensen."  
  
Danneel and Misha are having their own wordless stare down, as if any second they're going to bustle into the bathroom with linked arms to have a fag hag conference before returning. Or, another potential scenario, sneaking out of the bathroom window to avoid any awkward confrontations or Jensen's walk of shame back into the closet.  
  
"Okay, let's not point any fingers here," Misha's the one to speak up, "Let's not jump to conclusions and label anyone as straight."  
  
It's a fight for the modern homosexuals, and even the leather-wearing bisexuals who can't make decisions between their possible orientations, let alone whether to eat French Onion or chicken noodle soup for dinner. Jensen feels the grip of Misha's palm on his thigh tighten and he wriggles a little under the dig of his fingernails.  
  
"He's been gay for three days, I doubt calling him straight is all too far-fetched." Jared reasons, and shoots Jensen a look. He deserves it. He steals a glimpse from Danneel, and yes, he's back to being an expired product hiding in the bottom refrigerator shelf.  
  
"Are you trying to split them up?" Danneel asks, and her tone is sharp, like she's Jared's professor instead of the woman who just ate the sausages he served her for dinner.  
  
"You're only upset about this because you've already picked out their wedding china!"  
  
"Don't you think that if Jensen wanted to be with _you_ that's where he'd be?"  
  
"Did anyone ever tell you you're sort of a bitch?"  
  
"I'm sorry you can't take my therapy skills for what they are. Which just happens to be honest."  
  
"I asked for RuPaul as my therapist, darlin', not _Kathy Griffin_."  
  
Jared's the sweetest person Jensen's ever met. He's the only person who actually tells Jensen's aunt when she's dropped peas in her cleavage when they all go out for lunch together. He's the only person who doesn't tease Jensen for having Britney Spears on his iPod. He's the only person who remembers that Jensen likes to drink his coffee with a straw. The fact that he's battling out whether or not Misha and Jensen need wedding china with Danneel, a girl who screamed nothing appeal to Jensen a mere ten minutes ago when she was smiling at him from across the table, is like an uncharacteristic nightmare morphed into reality.  
  
"Can we please discuss this in the morning? Danneel, Misha?" Jensen rubs at his temples, which, ironically enough, worsens the throbbing in his head instead of soothing it. Misha's watching the exchange between Danneel and Jared as though it's an intense tennis match, and as much as Jensen would enjoy seeing which one of them has the bigger balls, this is not the time to discover that.  
  
"For the record," Danneel says, and Jensen should've pegged her from the beginning as a girl who had to have the last resounding word, "Jared shouldn't meddle in a perfectly happy relationship when Jensen's already dumped him once."  
  
Misha claps, but promptly stops when Jared stares him down. There's a few advantages that monstrous height will always present in fitting situations, not just the consequences of having to duck through small doorways.  
  
"The morning, please?" Jensen offers again, and shuffles Misha in the direction of the door like a farmer herding sheep. Danneel follows. She's showing off a generous portion of her legs, smooth as they gleam in the lamplight, the enormous heels she's lugging around on her feet providing good pedestals for the shaved skin going up her leg. She's undeniably pretty, and if Jensen had the time and the skill, he'd gladly carve her out of stone, but he really can't deny what Jared's already voiced.  
  
She's sort of a bitch.  
  
\---  
  
The _Danneel Harris is a bitch_ epiphany hits sort of hard with Jensen after he pushes both of them out the door. They're bickering like an old married couple playing matchmaker up until they slip into Misha's car and Jensen can't make out any more of their squabbling, and by the time he heads back to the table and clear off the dishes and embark in some serious soul searching with the help of his Michael Jackson playlist on his iPod, Jared's off moping in his room like a girl going through puberty in fourth grade.  
  
"Jared, the leftover sausages aren't going to eat themselves." Jensen coos through the Jared's door, which seems to be successfully barricaded with every chair Jared owns and can fit into his room.  
  
"Straight men aren't allowed to talk about sausages." Jared shouts back, and Jensen pounds his fist on the door.  
  
"You wanna open up in there?"  
  
"No, I think I'm good like this, thanks."  
  
"What exactly did Danneel say that was so insulting, Jared?"  
  
There's a snort, as if Jensen's too straight to understand any of Jared's internal turmoil, but before he can pound on the door again he hears the subtle scrape of wood against wood as Jared scoots around some of the chairs blocking the path. The door creaks open. Jensen marches in.  
  
"She's a bitch." Jared declares.  
  
"I agree." Jensen nods, and if Jared's surprised by Jensen's revelation, he doesn't make it obvious. Instead a tiny semblance of a smile itches onto his lips.  
  
"Did she say you were too good for Misha's precious nuts?" He asks, but there's a laugh bubbling up in there somewhere. Jensen resists the urge to poke him directly in the stomach like he's a life-sized Pillsbury dough boy to get out his giggle. It's a contagious sound.  
  
"No, she's just a bitch." Jensen concedes.  
  
"Who are you gonna bang now?"  
  
"Well, I think Misha's nuts are a little too precious for me."  
  
"So now you're all gay and proudly out?" Jared smirks, and not because he's looking forward to bringing Jensen to pride parades and making him wear mascara like Adam Lambert, but rather because he can't wait to count the minutes for how long Jensen remains supposedly gay.  
  
"More like bi-curious, if I'm allowed to say that."  
  
"Oh, you're cute." Jared says.  
  
"I'm adorable."  
  
When Jensen kisses him, or rather, kisses bow of his upper lip since he got a little anxious and missed when he aimed for his mouth, he expects there to be a lackluster response or perhaps even a rejection. Jensen's coming off as a horribly hormonal, very greedy college kid who's desperate enough to molest his best friend after dismissing a gay man with eyes that look like an aquarium spilled into his iris and a woman with legs that could be the epitome of a Venus commercial, and desperate guy with a boner that won't quit isn't exactly in Jared's criteria to carry on a good kiss. Jensen kisses harder, and without any further delay and a little ounce of shock for Jensen, Jared wraps his arms around Jensen's waist as though he's intent on picking him up like a bride on her wedding day.  
  
Which, after being unceremoniously dumped on Jared's mattress, which gives only a tiny huff of protest as more air seeps out of the hole Jensen's convinced Jared unknowingly created with a chopstick after some questionable Japanese takeout was returned to their dorm room, seems like it had been the intent after all.  
  
Jared's lips aren't soft and pliant anymore like the kiss from earlier, almost as if he's convinced Jensen's having a brief lapse of preference and by the end of the day he'll be back to ogling Danneel's breasts from afar, giving him only a short few hours before his make out session will be drawn to a spontaneous stop by Jensen's returning heterosexuality.  
  
So, he kisses like he'll never get the chance again. Needy and thorough, Jared's fingers gripping Jensen's cheeks and holding them in place as he tilts his head at just the right angle for their mouths to press together and their tongues to tangle freely. It's all instinct and less nerves for Jensen now, and the palpitations that were beating out of his chest the night he was with Misha's wandering hands are overwhelmed with pure raw _want_.  
  
Jared's hands aren't like Misha's. There's lengthy fingers and a broad palm digging into his back and bunching up the fabric gathering there instead of Misha's smaller, stubbier fingers. _Everything_ about Jared is big. Legs that go on for miles and even fall off of the end of the bed, broad shoulders, firm chest muscles, and what he can only assume based on what's pressing into his hip, a dick that goes along with the rest of his sizing.  
  
"Jen, you're too straight for this." Jared murmurs, straight on Jensen's spit-slicked lips, and Jensen rolls his eyes.  
  
"Jared," he says, and his voice is a little breathy and coarse, "I'm not _that_ stupid."  
  
Jared glances at him, slightly perplexed, but he dives in to capture his lips again before he can question whether or not Jensen's referring to the obvious enjoyment he felt after a fumble with Misha in the dark or the fact that Danneel's just that wrong about her assumptions as to who Jensen would or wouldn't dump after a romp in the closet. But before Jensen can even bother to explain, Jared gently parts his lips against Jensen's, and all thought about Danneel fly away as if blown by an industrial ceiling fan.  
  
Jared, ironically enough, after he opens his mouth, tastes like sausages. Their tongues brush, their teeth knock, and Jared's just a few pounds away from too heavy as he straddles Jensen's hips. A man. A man that's practically half his weight in muscles sitting atop Jensen, and from the way he was staring at his tongue while Jared was devouring the sausages he had prepared for dinner a few hours prior, Jensen's even sort of all right with that.  
  
Jensen's jeans are tight, except this time, it's not because Jared convinced him to slip into a size too small just for the sake of outlining his package so Misha would be able to see exactly what's on display. Even Jared, who wears hoodies and if he didn't own belts, sweatpants that would sag to his knees as if he's expecting to eat his last meal every night, seems to be experiencing the same issue, and he instantly grinds down against Jensen in a smooth, gentle rhythm.  
  
Jensen's heard countless times before from his brother and his friends that college is built for experimentation and, wrapped in a euphemism for courtesy, slutting around for the sake of youth. But after a week of balancing between two sides on the fence like a tightrope walker, Jensen thinks he's had enough experimenting to last him a lifetime. Just here, right now, Jared's lips breathing out moans that should be R-rated and his hips rolling onto his own, seems like enough for him.  
  
Jared's shimmying Jensen out of his pants with one hand while working on the buttons on his shirt with the other, all the while his mouth works away at Jensen's jaw, covering any marks Misha left with his own. Jensen would applaud him on his multitasking skills with the exception that he's a little busy trying to perfect his own as he pulls on the hem of Jared's shirt while he attempts to scramble for all of the breath that seems to have gone on a coffee break during their kissing.  
  
Jensen's seen Jared after a shower or undress just because air conditioning doesn't always cut it in the summer, and after a poor freshman year of high school starting the mark of one of his longer growth spurts, Jensen can really give Jared the award for the epitome of the puberty success story. From lanky and knobby in the knees, a thoroughly awkward looking kid with bony shoulders and long legs that seemed too unbalanced to even hold the boy upright, Jared's let hours at the gym pay off. He's practically got a pair of surfer's abs, rippling under his touch as Jensen's thumb flits over his stomach and brushes over the thin trail of hair down into his boxers.  
  
There's many things in the way, and for once, none of them are Jensen's wavering sexuality. This time, it's more like Jensen's clothes.  
  
There's a startling amount of them. Jensen blames the interminable curse upon all hormonal teenagers that means that whenever anyone blankets themselves in layers and multiple socks with the full intention of slumbering alone in bed, there will be a frustrating removal of them later by an equally hormonal plus impatient individual. Jensen's wearing the woolly socks that Jared got him last Christmas that by now are a lot less woolly than they used to and a lot more of an acclimation of lint on the floor that happened to twine its way in with the material of Jensen's socks. He's wearing an undershirt just so he wouldn't have to worry about flashing anyone nipples again too and by now, he's even regretting wearing underwear.  
  
Jared, however, doesn't seem to have an issue with removing all of it.  
  
It's not a porn movie. Jared isn't removing g-strings with his teeth and there aren't any conveniently placed cans of whipped cream lying around innocently. There's nothing spectacular about this except that it's Jared who's lying on top of Jensen with obvious arousal portrayed on his face, and to be fair, Jensen's okay with swapping aphrodisiac candles for his best friend to be the one to kiss him stupid in his bed.  
  
His boxers are pooled on a massacre of clothes on the floor along with Jared's within the next five minutes, and Jensen swallows down one of Jared's groans. The last time he's been this entirely naked in front of his roommate was when he walked in on him changing in the locker room the last day of physical education in high school. There had been nothing but a few stutters and apologies before the incident had been forgotten, and now instead of hasty _sorry, man!_ s, there's boners and moans. The things a few years can do.  
  
Jared's hands don't disappoint when they wrap around Jensen's dick and almost cover the whole thing. Never before has Jensen felt the need to thank the heavens for unreasonably behemoth fingers until now, Jared's fingers pumping up and down on his steadily hardening length like it's a talent graced to him purely because he's promised to find a good use to his enormous hands.  
  
He remembers to return the favor much later than he should, too busy panting and letting his eyelids flutter to revel in the sensation of such a slow, well done, almost tantalizing hand-job. His hands are reaching for Jared's hips as he leans up to connect their lips again, soft and still undeniably eager as Jensen runs his own hand down Jared's erection and brushes his thumb over the head that elicits a tremor and a rewarding moan out of Jared's throat.  
  
The whole thing is freakishly surreal and better than Misha, and Jensen can hardly believe that this is his second homosexual hand-job in a week after years of a strictly straight philosophy.  
  
Then again, he's reminded a mere second later when Jared's lips pull from Jensen's mouth to reattach themselves onto his nipple and down the expanse of his chest, that this change of his orientation isn't such a bad idea after all.  
  
Jared's fingers are always moving, his lips always sucking, whether it be his neck, his plump lower lip that Jared seems fascinated by, or his tongue. They're always kissing, saliva and teeth no longer factors holding them back from each other's mouths.  
  
Jensen expected Jared's body and his own to bump and knock awkwardly. Their shoulders would rub and their chests would be firm barriers of what Jensen's used to being soft breasts, and their erections would touch and roll together hard enough to leave burn. However, it's not cumbersome to have Jared's body blanketing his own. It's not an Owl City song, and they're certainly not each other's puzzle pieces, but it works. It works surprisingly well, like the fact that Jensen has always been jacking himself off alone on the toilet seat could have been avoided for years if they had done this sooner.  
  
In the morning, Jared's going to pour soda into Jensen's cocoa puffs and he's not going to notice until he goes for the first bite and there will be a suspicious lack of contents in his underwear drawer because some things never change, but this right here is all right. Even if it's not a Misha Collins experience or a Danneel Harris experimentation. No tits, no exaggerated curves, no long strands of curled hair. And it's all right.  
  
Despite the fact that Jensen's providing ample encouragement with the whimpers falling from his swollen lips with every stroke of Jared's palm over his erection, Jared seems unsatisfied with the level of the pleasure his ministrations are producing, and without further ado he pulls his hands away from Jensen's dick, which, metaphorically speaking, is hard enough to smash glass by now. Jared chuckles on Jensen's stomach when he whines, low and needy, but it's quickly proven that Jared's fingers are far from done with their exploration of Jensen's body as they go to probe gently at the muscle of Jensen's entrance a second later.  
  
It's foreign and strange and Jensen bucks at the feeling, because he and Misha never went this far. There were a few fumbling strokes and fisting, but after both of them were sated with a quick hand-job and a quick goodbye as Jensen rambled down a petty excuse as to why he had to wake up early in the morning and needed to leave the premises of Misha's dorm.  
  
Clearly, Jared has other ideas than just a hand-job, and when Jensen doesn't voice any concerns, Jared slowly rubs patterns over his entrance like an artist sketching out a rough idea with his finger. Jensen bucks again, his hips going on their own instinct as Jared pushes in a single fingertip. It's obtrusive and Jensen's just starting to wonder how this entire gay lifestyle is supposed to work out for him if Jared's finger is just his _preparation_ , when Jared digs deeper and all coherent thoughts find other places to rest until Jensen regains control over his brain.  
  
It's slow work, but Jared's gentle and mumbles repetitive words Jensen can't understand against his hip as he keeps stretching Jensen's opening, going from one finger to two, and before long, Jensen starts to understand the appeal of fingering alone. Jared's got Jensen reduced to a quivering mass of rolling hips and incoherent pleas by the time he pulls his fingers out and crawls back up his chest to push their lips together, all the while searching for the bottle of lube he keeps stored under the bed like any proper college student, like a Boy Scout with a survival kit. Well prepared.  
  
The lube smells like a raspberry milkshake exploded on Jared's sheets by the time he uncaps it, and Jensen actually laughs into his friend's mouth at the odor. Jared eats at the same frequency he breathes, even going as far to bring sandwiches to the bathroom or leaving lollipops stored in every pair of pants. He should've pegged Jared to be the type to go for scent when he picks out his lubricant at the store.  
  
It's cold when Jared finally pulls back from Jensen's lips with one final peck for reassurance and butters up Jensen's hole with a generous amount of lube coating his fingers. Jensen helps him smear it over Jared's dick all too excitedly, thoroughly satisfied with how encouraging Jared's audible noises of gratitude are considering this is one of the first dicks he's touched that isn't his own in a manner that attempted to convey arousal instead of some other peculiar reason as to why Jensen would have to touch another man's junk.  
  
By the time Jared's positioned, there's a thin, barely noticeable layer of moisture beading at Jensen's forehead. It's starting to sink in exactly what the hell just happened in between dinner and now, and how he went from admiring Danneel's form in her dress to begging Jared to touch him. It's a wild twist of events, the type that only occurs in movies and badly reviewed television shows, except if Jensen wanted to back out now, he'd have one hell of a boner to finish off before he tried to analyze the curious, flummoxed parts of his brain he had yet to confront until now.  
  
They're kissing again, and Jared kisses like they've already finished, slow and lazy and all tongues and no teeth. Jensen moans as he aligns their mouths, and with that as his motivation, Jared pushes in.  
  
Jared's huge, much larger than the sausage he finished off earlier today, but if there's anything Jared's skilled at, it's the art of distractions. He's got two hands and a bruised mouth to his disposal, and he definitely isn't letting it go to waste as he keeps kissing Jensen like he's ready to do this all night, hands running up and down his arms. It's painful, like someone's slowly trying to impale Jensen in ways he's not meant to be pierced, but before he can audibly complain about any pain, Jared's already fully sheathed and pulling back from Jensen's lips to let out a deep exhale he's been hiding in his throat.  
  
"Jen, you b-better not be straight after this."  
  
"Shut up, Jared."  
  
The picture of Jensen and Jared at prom is still straight in Jensen's line of vision as Jared buries his nose in the confines of Jensen's neck as he pulls out and pushes back in, out and in. Jared's been gay since high school. Jensen's been officially gay for a few hours thanks to a brief kiss from his best friend. Jensen thinks that might have a lot to say about their friendship.  
  
Even though right now, friendship is the last thing on his mind as Jared continues to move his hips in a manner that should be illegal, slowly, gently, before Jensen squeezes his shoulder as a silent affirmation and Jared increases his pace.  
  
The whole thing is surreal, yet oh so good. They kiss again, harder than before, Jared murmuring things on his lips that are far from lucid as they keep moving as one fused body rather than two sticky and sweaty ones. Jensen meets his thrusts, hips bucking, moans falling from his lips, and Jared does all he can to keep pushing into Jensen without losing his control right then and there.  
  
Jensen really hates the saying all good things must come to an end.  
  
Cloud nine flits before his eyes right before Jensen wraps his legs around the back of Jared's waist and pushes him in deeper, and instantly, after two loud moans that Jensen can't assign to whomever let them loose correctly, Jensen feels his release better than he did with Misha, his own hand, or the girl that he fumbled around with in tenth grade in the back of his car.  
  
Jared follows him soon enough, letting out a cry noisy enough to wake the neighbors and receive a few complaint calls for as a result as he comes, ones that they'll presumably giggle about and ignore. He slumps on Jensen's chest as though he's just carried up three couches all by himself in ten minutes, breath hot and short as it hits Jensen's shoulder.  
  
"Well," Jared says after a moment's silence and breath recollection, "that was very straight of you."  
  
Jensen snorts. It gets stifled against Jared's mop of hair pressing into his lips. He pushes at him feebly.  
  
"Sasquatch, move."  
  
The Sasquatch quip goes unmentioned. Jared moves, rolling as gracefully as possible off of Jensen without falling off of the mattress. Dorm beds are built for late night snuggling, because with thirteen inches being the extent of all moving space, Jensen and Jared wordlessly lay a hand over the other's hip and curl closer. Jensen's back is hitting the wall and Jared feels the edge of his ass dangling precariously off of the edge, so once again, they edge silently closer together. Their faces are too close to properly read any emotion, Jared's nose brushing against Jensen's in Eskimo kiss after Eskimo kiss, but Jensen doubts there's actually a frown gracing his friend's features at the moment.  
  
"So what are you gonna tell Misha?" Jared asks, reaching over to his nightstand to grab a handful of tissues and almost knocking over the lamp in the process. He wipes away any of the drying residue before doing the same to Jensen, gingerly cleaning him off. Jensen's too ticklish for this sort of cleaning and squirms against the tissues.  
  
"That we should just... stay friends?" Jensen supplies, "Is that as rude as it is in the straight world in the gay world?"  
  
Jared nods solemnly, "You might as well send him one of those cards that sings one of those jaunty little tunes that's really for couples who are breaking up and just leave it at that."  
  
"The singing cards aren't for break ups."  
  
"I'm pretty sure they are," Jared says, persistent, "If I was being dumped, I'd like to have someone sing it at me instead of just read it in an e-mail."  
  
"Except no one would spend ten bucks to tell someone they're breaking up with them."  
  
"How much _would_ you spend?"  
  
" _Nothing._ I don't need to indulge in any parting gifts, Jared. I'm living on instant noodles here." Jensen points out, a little indignantly, as if the fact that neither of them are keen on getting a job at the coffee shop or the book store on campus is the universe's fault.  
  
"So you're gonna give me a cup of ramen when you're breaking up with me?"  
  
Jensen stares at him through the dark. It's gone from dusk to midnight and it only took one round of sex with Jared to do so. There's plates with leftover sausage grease stewing in the sink by now and shouting for a healthy dose of soap, but neither of them are up for active cleaning. Jensen's head is shutting down and his limbs are boneless, ready for nothing but enjoying the afterglow of good sex and curling into Jared's brick wall of a chest. He can hardly believe that Jared's attempting to subtly bring up their relationship status through ramen noodles at this time of night, but Jared's paranoid and antsy like that. Jensen yawns.  
  
"Nah," he says, and smiles, "I think I'll go through the extra ten bucks for that goddamn card when that happens."  
  
The unspoken _you know I'm only saying this because I don't think we're breaking up, right? Ten bucks is fucking ten bucks._ lingers in the air, but Jared gets it. Jensen does too. They chuckle in unison at the comfortable silence and burrows closer like amoebas digesting each other for dinner.  
  
And no one thinks of heterosexuality (or Danneel Harris) that night.


End file.
